


Milk & Honey

by maximumdanger



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Emotional Manipulation, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Manipulation, Martin Blackwood-centric, Missing Scene, Monologue, Monster Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, POV Outsider, POV Second Person, Spoilers for The Magnus Archives Season 5, Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives), Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26260045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximumdanger/pseuds/maximumdanger
Summary: Statement of the Tonner family cabin, regarding Martin Blackwood and his relationship with the creature formerly known as Jonathan Sims.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61





	Milk & Honey

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Contains spoilers for late s4/early s5 of TMA. If you've heard up to mag162, you should be good. Also contains emotional manipulation, themes of unreality, and a brief mention of bad/abusive parenting. Please don't read if you're looking for something cheery!
> 
> A/N: Hey! I know it's been a while since I posted, but I had surgery in early August which left me unable to write at length for a couple of weeks and also recently started college! Hopefully I'll be able to get out some fics I've been writing in the next couple of months! Look out for more SPOP (2018), TMA, and possibly Critical Role content coming soon! There will likely be less angst and more fluff in the future.
> 
> Special thank you to lynxladybuglover on here for editing! Please check out her work if you are interested in more SPOP (2018) fics!

Oh, Martin. I can see the weight on your shoulders. You drag behind you the garbage bag of disappointment you call your life. You've used your precious time simply fulfilling the bare minimum requirements of what you need to survive. You accepted the first full time job that would take you, and look at how that turned out for you. It's okay, love, you were never especially bright.

You never got the chance to really live, did you? When you went home after a day of terror, all you had was an empty one-bedroom flat with paper-thin walls that barely sheltered you from the world outside. You couldn't escape the world inside of you, though, could you? The father that left you, the mother who never loved you, friends that died too young, and an occupation that existed to destroy you were always on your mind. When you stared into the cracked mirror of your medicine cabinet, what stared back was a stubbly and worn down man who never truly got what he wanted.

When you moved into this little cabin with that thing, you hoped to shield yourself from the memories of a life lived in complete and utter fear of yourself and of others and their intentions. You hoped for a chance at a new life with the man that you loved. You watched the rolling countryside dotted with cows and felt stirring in your chest a new type of joy. It was freedom, a fresh start. There was a world outside of the terror that had been forced down your throat by people who told you they had your best interests at heart. 

_ I almost had it, _ you think now.  _ I was so close. I did everything I was supposed to _ . 

Your life had just begun, and you were finally safe. Did you really believe these crumbling stone and wood walls would protect you? You didn't realize that the danger slept beside you at night, with malice hidden behind its greying hair and sad eyes. It's a far cry from the man you convince yourself it is.

Well, you've always been quite the nervous man, right? You were always afraid of what others thought of you, so you kept your eyes on your own paperwork. I'm sure you would never understand the pure delight of voyeurism the way that I, and what was once your beloved, do.

I watch as you stumble from bed to kitchen. You pull the same mug from the cabinet every time. You make a cup of black tea with milk and honey. You don't drink it, but you contemplate its sweetness. It stays on the table next to you as you sit on your loveseat and listen to the whirring and clicks and voices behind the closed door where that thing sits and devours memory after memory, all of which once belonged to Jonathan Sims. You try to numb yourself and pretend you don't feel its urge to shred the sound waves between its jagged teeth.

The radio spits out nothing but static when you turn it on, the old television set emanating nothing but a hazy green glow that brings a sick feeling to your stomach. You miss music, but you've never been one for singing. The mug disappears from the table and you pretend not to notice. You know that when you next make your tea, it will be waiting back in the cabinet for you. There is always a mug. There is always milk and honey.

You tell yourself that the world outside my bending and bowing walls doesn't exist. You draw the dusty, moth-eaten curtains shut so you don't have to look at the world that your beloved has created. You decide that you do not hear the sliding of mud and silt and the cries of desperate creatures clawing their way out of the earth that has buried them so deeply. You shake away the knowledge that a million eyes stretch across the endless sky above you and drink your growing anxiety. You convince yourself that the hell inside the cabin is much better than the hell outside. You sit in the numb monotony of your terror.

_ We're safe here, _ you tell yourself.  _ It can't get to us here. _

You lay your heavy body down next to the thing that calls itself your beloved and pretend you do not notice how it has changed.

When you hear his voice on the tapes, you're sure that it's the same as what comes from its mouth now, the voice that comforts you and whispers "I love you" and "It's going to be okay" when you lay next to the unfamiliar body it springs from. The same body that cradles you now used to sit crouched at its desk in the archives for hours at a time, devouring statement after statement. Perhaps not quite in the way it devours them now. But he, your beloved, has to be the same. You push the doubt you feel far down into your unsettled stomach. He'd never leave you. He promised you. It has to be him.

To your cheek, it presses soft lips that hide a dozen rows of sharpened teeth and a forked tongue. Poor thing. I almost pity you.

When had his hair gone white? When had he stopped wearing his glasses? They sit on the nightstand beside your bed, and you resist the urge to clutch them and sob. Jon was once shorter than you, wasn't he? You're sure you can remember resting your chin on top of his head as you held him close, but now… now you feel so small.

Oh, darling. Why can't you see that you're all alone? Can't you see that everyone who has loved you is long gone? It tells you that you're not alone, that as long as you have each other, everything will be okay. It would never hurt you. It's lying to you, Martin. The man that the creature in your bed pretends it is will never come back. You will never see him again.

So lay down next to it, Martin. Smell the milk and honey on that wretched creature's skin and pretend that sweetness means safety. Pretend you do not feel the sharpness of its bones and the unnatural fluttering of its heart against yours. Pretend that love is warming you from the inside and not the visceral fight-or-flight instinct that clutches your stomach and threatens to tear you apart. The eyes that sprout on its skin and circle around its silvery head like a devilish halo watch you wind yourself tighter everyday. They know the creature fears its hunger more than you do.

It's cold in the house today, Martin. Don't you feel it? Don't be silly, of course you do. Settle closer to the fire. Wrap yourself in a quilt and its embrace. Feel the claws pressing into your back as a hand glides lovingly down your spine, and suppress the thought that the thing sitting next to you is going to eat you alive. Don't ask it why you two will never leave the cabin, but create the answer in your mind.

_I love you, Martin._ _I want what's best for you. I just don't want to see you get hurt out there. You're too fragile to face the dangers I've created. We're safer here._

Listen to its voice, my darling. Stay here. I'll always welcome you. I'll always be here for you. I love you, Martin. Please, sleep in my bed and pour tea into my mugs and sit in the warmth of my fire. Know that you are alone even when the creature is with you. This is where you belong, Martin, and where you always will be.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, I'd appreciate if you leave any comments letting me know what you enjoyed or what I can improve on!


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